


Re-association

by inheritanceofgeek



Series: Re-association [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Joan Watson - Freeform, Star Trek - Freeform, Taboo, Treklock, Trill - Freeform, its complicated, many lives, symbionts and hosts, trill!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 12:51:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/913425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inheritanceofgeek/pseuds/inheritanceofgeek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sherlock and John are Trills, hosting the Holmes and Watson symbionts. (Because spots! And Many-Lives!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Re-association

**Author's Note:**

> We might revisit this universe at some point, but there are simply so many possible stories its a bit overwhelming to plan such a hefty collaboration! We hope you'll enjoy this snippet, and maybe your feedback will give us a kick in the rear to get some more written :P
> 
> This work is very much inspired by the co-authors' love of the character Jadzia Dax, scientist, badass, general wise-person. <3
> 
> John POV by tallenough  
> Sherlock POV inheritanceofgeek

_Bolting around the corners, phaser in hand. A sudden pinch of nerves in the leg, phaser scattering away behind a bulkhead. Falling to his knees, his long black hair plastering to his face with sweat. Not his hair. He's never had long hair. He's never had black hair for that matter. He's never been shot, either. He's John. He's just John and this is not him._

The nightmares are backlogged. That's the only way he can explain it to himself. He's got to make up for six other peoples lives worth of trauma. Six- well- seven extra sets of fears and learned apprehensions. He hasn't been trained for this. It's going to take time. There hadn't even been an opportunity to discuss the joining, or the history that belonged to the name he was now joined with. He had heard bits and snatches of the legacy of course. If she would have said the name of the symbiont, it would have meant something to him, culturally speaking. But it would have been a fairy tale, wouldn't it? That was certainly not the sort of bedtime story the joining had proved to be. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He had been up for reassignment, anyhow. That was the irony of it. Become a different person, John. It would be as simple as slipping the loose file of his life into a new folder. A roster on someone else's desk. John had packed away his meager accumulation of possessions and boarded a planet-hopper off Hakton VII, where he had been performing humanitarian aid. He was meant to rejoin a Federation contingent once they were past the Demilitarized zone, and take up a new life in hospital administration. When John took his seat in the passenger cabin, he was surprised to see another Trill seated across from him. A woman with infinite eyelashes, enviable cheekbones, and radiant black hair that hung in drapes about her small frame. He could see the age in her eyes as clearly as the spots that marked her from hair line to collar. She was joined. 

Before he could convince his mouth to say hello, a whispered swear escaped his lips instead when the entire spacecraft lurched beneath him. Just inertial dampeners kicking in on a rusty old bucket-of-bolts ship. He tried to lose himself in quiet pleading with his lunch to _stay put, please!_ while the hopper negotiated its release from gravity. Another lurch, with sound this time. The ripping sound of oxygen meeting non-atmosphere. The pilot of the craft, to his credit, managed to take them back down. They limped to the planet's surface once more. The damage was done, however. 

Burst conduits spilled out their wiring above him, he could smell smoke and burning plasma, and in front of him... In front of him the other Trill was slumped out of her seat, to the grated floor of the cabin. She had taken a piece of shrapnel through and through, it seemed. The wall behind her had lost integrity in the damage, and nearly eviscerated the passenger it was meant to escort to another world, not the afterlife. He would learn later that this was yet another suicidal attack of the Maquis, taking desperate pot-shots at those they viewed as Cardassian sympathizers.

Cardassian, sympathizer, or fellow federation member, John didn't care. He didn't think as he moved to tend to wounded woman, and soon another medic from his unit, Murray, was at their side as well.

" 'Nother leopard like you, Hamish," Murray quipped while pressing into the wound so John could dig out a laser scalpel.

" _Murray_ ," he warned. 

John usually appreciated the lighthearted manner of the other medic, but not when he was so keenly aware they were about to lose _two_ patients, not just the one that Murray had recognized.

"Is it all right?" he demanded of the woman. 

Her eyelids fluttered weakly. 

"Is it all right- please!" 

"Al-alone," she breathed. 

"No, sweetheart. We've got you," Murray reassured. 

"S'gone," she managed to assert. 

"Her symbiont's been severed, Murray," John clarified, sitting back on his heels. 

"She's joined? You're sure?" 

"Yeah. They can't survive this together, and the symbiont certainly can't survive this apart from a healthy body. She.." he trailed off. 

She wasn't going to survive this at all. Maybe if they had been on the homeworld, or within an afternoon's journey of it- but the window of opportunity for this kind of matter was impossibly small. There was simply no other way for it. They would have to complete the severance. He could attempt to save at least one being, today. And if they could get him back to the symbiosis commission within 93 hours, it would be fine. Probably. They'd both be fine, but they only stood that chance if he allowed himself to be joined. He would just have to distance himself from it, think about it like a blood transfusion. There would be no integration, he simply hadn't trained for it. It was an impossibility to him at that moment. 

"She's not gonna make it, you'll have to give it to me, or it will die too." 

Murray fixed him with an incredulous stare, jaw open. John's face blazed with a responding certainty. Murray didn't even know the half of it. He didn't know that rejection could kill John, that the improperly performed joining could likely result in permanent psychological damage. John scrambled in his kit for a anesthetic and jabbed himself in the gut as soon as he found it. He offered Murray the laser scalpel. 

"I wouldn't even know where to cut, mate," he stammered. 

John flipped the instrument around in his hand, pointing inward, and clamped the other hand on Murray's shoulder with an exhale. 

"If it's going to survive at all, you'll need to get us back to my homeworld in 93 hours or less." 

"Hmmmsss..." murmured the woman. 

John was surprised she was still conscious, to be honest. 

"Hhom..." 

"Home?" 

"Nnn..Hhollll.." 

"Whole? Yes we know, the whole symbiont, we'll keep him in one whole piece," Murray assured her. 

John powered up the scalpel and watched as he slit open his own abdomen. Once he had made the steady cut, he took the help Murray offered in lowering himself to the floor. He felt light headed. He felt empty, with his insides open to the air. And then he felt heavy headed. And then he felt full. 

\-------------------------------------------------- 

He'd known when it had happened, just as Watson had known about Temperance's death and they had become Sherlock. It was hard to describe- as though he'd been made up of strings and suddenly one had been cut, jerking him off balance. No wonder Watson had called him as soon as she'd heard that he was in a new host, telling him that she was just going to 'Fuck Starfleet' and come back to him. That Holmes and Watson should always be together. 

He remembered the times when they were apart. The way Jeremy had never felt complete, and how Temperance had ended up dying alone in her office, paper work laid out in front of her, having being separated from Watson for too many lifetimes for them to cope. The council had been attempting to separate them for so long, having exiled them when they'd Re-associated in their second lives. They'd only made it this long through the black market trade in symbionts. Half the population were suitable for joining, after all, but not all were allowed the chance to be so due to the committee's belief that too many joined people would only bring chaos. Before, Sherlock had agreed with them; people were idiots and wouldn't be able to cope, as he doubtless would be able to, with the memories of multiple people when they barely had enough brain power to function in the singular. But then Holmes had come along and, well, changed all that. His mind had been broadened in more than one way. People were still idiots, true, but that didn't make them unworthy or not to be respected. As an intelligent being is was his duty to help them in any small way he could. This had led him to becoming a Doctor, a Chemist, a Private Investigator and in one truly memorable life a Dominatrix. He'd dabbled in Piracy as well, though that's was more a hobby then a proper career, and he'd only stolen from people who'd deserved it like that Milverton bloke. So this is why he'd joined Starfleet. To help people, but also in the hope of meeting Watson... 

She'd been working out in the field as a soldier come councilor, fighting against the Maquis when she'd received Watson from Jude. Eager to continue her career for a few years longer, try and make it to Captain if she could, Lucy Watson said farewell to Temperance and had gone on her way. That memory was still raw in Sherlock's mind. How lonely he'd felt without her by his side, how even his/her dear friend and partner (and yeah, he had to admit some-what love interest) Booth, had not been able to quiet the deep ache within them. He'd thought the emptiness he'd always felt inside was down to not being joined, but after he had been, the feeling just increased. He needed someone in his life and that someone was Watson. It was, after all, a broken heart that had killed him last time. 

So as soon as he'd finished his experiment on plant samples Keiko O'Brein's team had brought back to Deep Space Two-Twenty-One, he'd packed up his belongings on B deck, leaving Molly Hooper in charge of maintaining his more delicate experiments (she might have been useless, but she was the most capable and trustworthy person on the entire station) and made the trip back home. 

All the way he thought back to his previous reunions with Watson. One time he'd fainted, another time been punched in the face and most recently he'd been shouted at through a dodgy vid con link, Lucy Watson's face stern... 

"What the Hell Holmes? You just die on me? Why would you do that? Who gave you permission to do that? Four more months you moron. That's all you had to last! That's it, I'm coming home, Fuck Starfleet protocol, I'm not letting _Sherlock_ Holmes get away from me." Sherlock had only been joined for about an hour and was still woozy. 

_She's Watson you fool._

Watson? But Watson's a man, he was married to Mary Morstan and 

_WRONG_

Ah yes, she was a shuttle pilot and master criminal who went by the name Bunny and we 

_WRONG_

 Damn. 

_Come on Sherlock it's not that difficult you can do it, look at her face, remember when we last spoke to her? How the smell or Jasmine was in the air?_

Tsk, sentiment 

_Oh don't start._

"You're, You're Lucy Watson you've been in star fleet since you were 24...The last time we spoke was when you left to re-join your crew under Captain Gregson. You have one sister, no, a brother but you've never had a good relationship with him or your parents. Your Dad had an affair and you don't think you Mother should have taken him back. You play baseball and last time you were on shore leave you went to New New New York - but that was 8 years ago." 

_Obviously._

Lucy threw her hands in the air "At last he remembers! Look. I'm coming as soon as I can. Ok? Just don't do anything stupid, all right?" Her voice was filled with such concern, the life times of companionship and love obvious in her very eyes. "Don't you do anything stupid either..." He replied more tenderly then he had expected. She grinned "I'm exiting the war zone, Holmes, what could go wrong?" 

_Famous last words..._

\-------------------------------------------------- 

He woke with the familiar pinkish light of a Trill sunset nudging at his blinking eyes. A light he hasn't seen in three years. No- that's not right. John hasn't been home since taking his Starfleet commission nearly ten years ago. _Why would he think it was three years?_ one part of his brain questioned. _Don't you remember saying goodbye to Jude in this light?_ asked another. 

A kindly face loomed over his bed, smiling, and gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder 

"Feel like sitting up for some breakfast?" asked the woman. She offered a forearm for him to grip. 

"I could eat," he agreed. 

"You take your time," she said, setting a tray on his lap 

"I could run straight up a Tenaran Ice Cliff, actually. I feel- in top form." 

The nurse smiled at him again, and John reached for a utensil, all the while watching his hand, nearly out of body. He had picked up the fork automatically with his left hand. Naturally. He began to prod at some chopped fruit floating in a whipped pudding, and brought it to his mouth. _Aren't I right handed?_ The tang of fruit was pleasant enough, but the creamy taste of the pudding- 

"Augh!" 

"Something the matter, sir?" 

"I uhm-" He was too polite to blurt out _I HATE vanilla!_ but he was also too confused to piece together why he suddenly detested a breakfast dish he had once eaten with zest. He shook his head. 

"You do what you can with your breakfast. You're having a visitor within the hour. I'll get you a fresh tunic for the day. Would you like that? What size do you take?" 

Six? Twelve? Twenty? Women's or Men's? Suddenly he was unsure and he did his best to fight the instinct to thrust down the bedding and check. Panic began to bubble up. 

"I'll make my best guess, sir," said the nurse with a soft, knowing nod. 

"Sir who?" he asked, more bravely than he felt. 

"Sir is John Watson. Enjoy your breakfast." 

Watson! _Watson?_ He's not Watson, he's Holger! No- also wrong. He's John Hamish. His parents are James and Catherine Hamish. But his mind beats back to every assertion. _Also! Also! You are also Jude. You are also Edward. You are Lucy. We are Watson. We are now John Watson._

\-------------------------------------------------- 

Once they'd landed he demanded to be taken to the hospital facility where Watson was being kept. Pacing up and down outside the room, he thought about how this new Watson would react... Personally, Being presented with his companion so early after joining, especially one who had shouted her way through five nurses, two doctors and the head of the committee herself, had been a little over whelming; even for his superior intellect! This Watson sounded like a perfectly sound man. Nerves of steel, strong moral compass and a skilled federation surgeon yes, but he was no Sherlock Holmes. No, he'd been right to wait a little longer than an hour to see him. Three had been a perfectly reasonable amount of time. This Nurse making him wait for four whole hours was just plain rude. But he was going to meet his Watson face to face at long last! He could jump for joy 

_What a cliché._

Oh don't you start you're just as excited as I am, if I'm jumping then so are you. 

_Fair point._

_....._

_...._

Oh shut up. 

_Didn't say anything!_

You were thinking it was annoying. 

_I'm looking forward to seeing him again as well._

The nurse came out of the room just then and Holmes whipped round to face him, slightly hesitant. 

"He's still a bit shaken by everything, you might want to leave it a litt-" but he'd already pushed past him and entered the room. 

John Watson turned out to be a lot shorter than he had expected, even lying in bed he could tell he couldn't be all that much taller than his previous host; or was Sherlock Holmes just taller than most Watson's had been? He had sandy coloured hair and looked rather battle worn moving his shoulder in circular motions as though it was giving him pain. 

_Psychosomatic?_

With a possible existing injury as well. 

Still, just seeing him felt amazing. He could _sense_ the history between them, the decades of partnership; of loss; of reunions and of adventures. It felt great to see him again. 

"John Watson I presume" he smiled. 

"Er, Sherlock Holmes, right?" Sherlock nodded eagerly. 

"You can call me John." 

_Oh..._

\-------------------------------------------------------------- 

They had been more of less in step with each other for the better part of three centuries. Their previous integrations with new hosts had mostly been accomplished in each other's company. Their first hosts, Maurice and Holger, had been an inseparable force of nature. They worked together, lived together, fought side by side (and with each other), and had loved one another. Holmes was the first to require a new initiate, to no one's surprise. He's always been the more reckless of the two, but in the end- it wasn't any of the numerous villains that did-in his “transport” as he called it, it was his ailing heart, which had so often been metaphorically refuted.  
Holmes was then joined with William, who was a markedly more reserved Trill. He possessed a technical mind, which Maurice and Holmes had appreciated, and further more possessed a knack for mechanical invention. Not long after, Holger Watson was no more- and Watson became joined with initiate Bruce. The bond between symbionts, not meant to be repeated through a plurality of lifetimes, could not be avoided. Despite the Trill taboo against Re-association, despite the threat of exile, and the promise of the end of both host and symbiont lives, the two reunited. They dared to stunt the transcendent potential of relative immortality, and for their arrogance they were exiled, and doomed to eek out their last lifetimes, severed from their society. But they had thought, Well, better two lifetimes together than only one, and many more spent in denial of such worthy company. And so they meant to live out the remainder of their truncated hereafter as Bruce Watson and William Holmes. They resumed their former exploits on a galactic level, shaking off their former planetary confines, and continued “The Work” of deduction and justice. 

The chronicling of the many victories of the renegade Trills became a legacy, a myth among their people. Publicly, their Re-association was condemned. Privately- many a Trill (joined or singular) thought that if one was going to disregard such an ancient tenant of their culture, Holmes and Watson certainly made a good job of it. When they were quite old men, two such private thinkers sought them out. Vitali and Eille, two prospective initiates had grown up in a culture that treated the myth of Holmes and Watson as a sort of tragic hero ballad; a pair of star-crossed lovers, brilliant in their boisterous action-packed triumphs, yet quietly doomed by taboo. 

It had never occurred to either Holmes or Watson that they might obtain another bevy of days which they would be allowed to share. Holmes nearly agreed to the new joining on the spot, while Watson grimaced with guarded trepidation. They would be whipped back into their lives of action. There was potential one could lose the other at any time, and be made to suffer on alone. Another set of lives, another youth- instead of passing away together; quietly and planned. They had never been much for quiet and planned. 

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> art by [stitchnik](http://stitchnik.tumblr.com/post/53251491352/trill-sherlock-and-trill-john-john-is-not-pleased#notes)


End file.
